


provocateur

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Clothing, F/F, Future Fic, Kissing, Pining, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15723084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “What I’m saying is it should fit perfectly. It should protect you. A dress is as much an extension of you as your spirit blade. It shouldn’t kill you.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Though if anyone were to concoct a scheme to assassinate the Inquisitor with her gown, it would be someone in Orlais who thought of it.”





	provocateur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [olio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olio/gifts).



“This, my dear, is every bit a piece of armor as the leathers you wear on the battlefield,” Vivienne said. Her fingers brushed over Herah’s shoulders, lingered over the awkward neckline of the dress she was wearing. If wearing was even the right word for it. The last few clasps in the back couldn’t be closed even with Vivienne’s persistence and every trick at her disposal, magical and not, and it bunched in places it had no business bunching in.

Dressmakers didn’t make dresses with Qunari proportions in mind, not even when one was the famed Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, a hero for all people.

“My armor doesn’t try to strangle me,” Herah answered, as good natured as she knew how to be while getting her point across. After all, it wasn’t Vivienne’s fault and Herah had asked for assistance, but this very clearly wasn’t working, had been a very bad idea. Not least of all because Herah hadn’t anticipated Vivienne touching her quite so much as she had. Over the course of the last hour, Herah had lost count of how often Vivienne’s warm, welcoming palm had found its way somewhere on Herah’s body. 

Vivienne merely tipped her head in acknowledgment, unaware of the turmoil brewing inside of Herah or perhaps ignoring it as gracefully as she could. “What I’m saying is it should fit perfectly. It should protect you. A dress is as much an extension of you as your spirit blade. It shouldn’t kill you.” A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Though if anyone were to concoct a scheme to assassinate the Inquisitor with her gown, it would be someone in Orlais who thought of it.”

“At least it would be original.”

“It would be at that.” Vivienne frowned, her hands falling to her own perfectly accentuated hips. Herah had thought—very foolish thoughts when she’d decided to come here. Herah did not like Orlais, not since Halamshiral and long before it. She’d believed playing things their way for once might make this trip more pleasant. Instead, she was merely reminded again that she would have to blaze her own path.

Of course, if she let herself think about it, it was entirely possible they’d laugh and call her an ox in fancy dress. It wouldn’t have been so different from before, except now she could exert some control of her own. There were things the people of Orlais wanted of her. And she could, if she wanted to, deny them to those people.

Nothing was ever easy, but things were easier now than they’d ever been. There had to be some benefit to defeating Corypheus, she supposed.

Even if it didn’t feel like it at the moment.

Making a slow circuit around Herah, Vivienne came around to stand behind her. Those clever fingers again attempted to close those final clasps. “Do you even want to do this in this particular manner? You’ve more than proved yourself to them even if they pretend you haven’t.”

Herah looked over her shoulder, locked eyes with Vivienne. The thought of presenting herself before Orlais, mask and all? It didn’t appeal. And yet, she didn’t want a repeat of the Winter Palace either. There was no way to win any more Orlesian respect than she’d already earned, but she wouldn’t have minded minimizing the jeering that went on behind her back. If only because it was easier to keep her companions from lashing out when people weren’t insulting her. “You’re right,” she answered. “It’s stupid.”

“It isn’t—” Vivienne stopped and huffed in fond exasperation. Herah didn’t think anyone exasperated Vivienne the way she did and she couldn’t help but feel proud of that fact. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but Vivienne had never shown her anything but friendship and respect. “Darling, you are a formidable opponent whether you wear the most gorgeous gown in all of Orlais or you’re in your traveling gear. They know that. You could show up in your knickers and you’d probably start a fresh trend among the elite and they’d hate you for it all the while. That’s just Orlais. If you want to do this, I will ensure the best for you, but if you don’t, I’m still with you. As long as none of us have to wear that beastly scarlet concoction Josephine dreamed up, you’ll have my support.”

“That was years ago now, Vivienne,” Herah replied.

“I remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday.” A smile blossomed on Vivienne’s face. Her laugh rang out, sparkling like crystals in firelight, and Herah found she would suffer a lot to hear even more of it. “I should very much love to dress you in silks and lace for the novelty of it,” Vivienne said. Her tone, rich as honey, took on a mischievous note, discordant and sweet all the same. “But for what it’s worth, I find the leathers very dashing.”

Her eyes lingered on her own hand resting on Herah’s bicep. It took every ounce of Herah’s self-control to keep from flexing. Just to see what happened. If Vivienne would notice or react in any way, positive or negative.

But Vivienne was ever Vivienne. Though warm, she carried a distance inside of her that Herah was too fearful to broach. Perhaps that was Herah’s failure, but Vivienne had already made herself clear once, long ago. There is nothing that Herah could point to that suggested anything had changed in the interim. Nothing except a deepening of their friendship and that, after so long in Skyhold, could easily be explained away.

Vivienne’s smile grew bright as the sun and her eyes lit with the shine of a new idea. It made Herah want to be bold, made her want to take Vivienne’s face between her palms and press a kiss to her lips as sweet as Herah knew how to give. Perhaps Vivienne sensed it, because she stilled, looked into Herah’s eyes, considering.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, so fond now that the echo of it ached in Herah’s chest. Her hand squeezed Herah’s arm all the tighter.

It was unfair. It was unfair that Vivienne could do this to her and maybe, maybe Herah should just take the damned chance and let the hand stand for itself in this game of Wicked Grace they’ve been playing. And Herah couldn’t help it. She took that hand of Vivienne’s in hers and squeezed back, placed her palm on Vivienne’s cheek just as she’d wanted to.

“Forgive me,” she said, almost silent, as she leaned in. But Vivienne said nothing and she didn’t stop Herah and when their lips touched, Vivienne hummed in what Herah hoped was pleasure and not unhappy surprise.

Vivienne did not pull away. In fact, her free hand found its place on Herah’s hip, slid over her back to settle low on her spine. The dress Herah half wore, lined several times over and supported by garments that were even more uncomfortable than armor, meant she couldn’t genuinely feel the heat of Vivienne’s touch against her skin, but it didn’t stop her mind from running amok with the knowledge that it was happening at all. She deepened the kiss before Herah could, biting at Herah’s lower lip, brushing her tongue against Herah’s.

Herah could have done this forever. Would happily have succumbed to Vivienne’s kisses alone.

But there was work to be done still and Vivienne seemed to realize it. Pulling away, she ducked her head and swiped her thumb across Herah’s mouth as though she wasn’t quite ready to let go. “I have an idea,” she said, “for the dress. We’ll need a leatherworker and I’ll have to contact my favorite seamstress in Orlais. We can discuss this—” She indicated the pair of them with a back-and-forth gesture of her hand, rested her palm against Herah’s sternum for a moment. “—in more detail later. Perhaps in my chambers?”

Herah’s cheeks warmed at the thought, but she nodded readily.

“Good,” Vivienne said. “Then we’ll get to work. Orlais won’t know what to do with itself once we’re through with them.”

Herah liked the sound of that.

Then again, she liked the sound of anything Vivienne said to her.

Heart light, she looked forward to seeing what Vivienne came up with.


End file.
